


The Angels' Hands

by crystallizedcherry



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Disasters, F/M, not really accurate, related to historical event
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallizedcherry/pseuds/crystallizedcherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They would survive, as they were not alone. {collection of ficlets; prompt taken from historical events}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. america/belarus: an angel for her disaster

**Author's Note:**

> There is an American non-profit organization named American Belarussian Relief Organization (ABRO) dedicated to improving the lives of children located in the affected areas from Chernobyl disaster in Belarus. But I have to emphasis here that this fanfic is not historically accurate in the term of setting, since the American organization began to take shape in 1991 meanwhile the disaster had happened five years before. So Alfred’s coming to Natalya here is just like ... a ‘rough’ analogy of American’s help to Belarussian people, especially their children.

_Hetalia: Axis Powers © Hidekaz Himaruya.  
no profit is gained in the making_

* * *

 

She was literally not okay. The spring’s start barely  moved away, yet she was so ill to be far away from the hearth. She coughed several times in a minute, body curled up into fetal position and the curtain of platinum tress fell exactly before her eyes to conceal everything from the spring hearth’s fire.

She was not okay, she was not okay. At all.

Whenever her coughing came, it felt so bitter for her throat. Like it was mixed with strong acid, and there was an invisible knife slicing down her oesophagus in a motion like a cold-handed murdered did.

And for the thousand time coughing, this time she could not resist the urge to close her mouth for the hardest cough suddenly rising up in her throat. When she took a close look for her palm with her blurry vision combined with the dim light of the room, she found sheer hint of blood that time. Two-three coughs later thankfully didn’t feel as hurt as that one, but after she regained strength to get up, the same case came up hard again and the blood bursted out before she could handle it with her palm like before.

Spills of blood spread out on the floor and her palm. The strength once she could gain now disappeared and her mind forced her to lie down again.

The startling knock from the front door was not something she could take notice of. She was on halfway-to-pass out condition to think that there was a single damn person trying to have her attention.

The knock was slowly doubled in frequency and the guest seemed like couldn’t be patient enough to wait the host to open the door for him. A kick with his left leg ended his waiting, and the door would have fled away if he hadn’t suppressed energy he had used.

She coughed, she was bleeding, and he came. He gathered up her in his arm and rested her head on his lap. He caressed her cheek and combed her hair with his long digits, gathering part of her hair that scattered like a mess on her face to her back of ear. He whispered some ‘hi’ right above her hear, but she was too weak to give any respond.

He took her hand in his, and was aware of blood that was almost dry on the palm of her. He kissed her knuckles, didn’t think the annoying smell of her blood was a nasty hindrance.

She didn’t have to open her eyes to know who he was, he always came with the same voice of calling her ‘Belarus’. She sometimes thought that she might not need a memory space to remember his calling, just judging from how familiar he sounded.

He brought her with both of his muscular arms, stepping out of the quiet home clutching her closer to his chest and kissing her forehead and crown and nose.

He laid her on the backseat. He drove the rented car slowly but when she coughed, he sped it up—even though he knew she wouldn’t die of coughing, but his deepest heart could not even resist the voice of her coughing as if it could break his heart into pieces too.

They were not arrived on the hospital. She barely could not open her eyes when she smelt unfamiliar, yet a calming aroma. He talked when he entered a brighter room, he talked in his English and not the Slavic language he usually used when he came to her house or her brother’s.

All she knew that he ordered some people to provide aromatherapy, foods, and warm room. She forcefully opened her eyes,  but he caught it, “Just rest, Nat. You are safe and will be okay soon.”

He only called her with her human name only in crucial time or when he wanted to emphasize his order for her.

But she was being persistent, as usual, “Where ....”

“A guest house used by my people to help yours. And we will have one for me to help you.”

She didn’t retaliate. She closed her eyes again, but stubbornly refused her willing to sleep.

She was put on a comfortable bed, she could sense it.

She didn’t need medicine, he knew, because being a personification the medicine could not work well with them and only two things could heal: time, and a pal.

So he sat beside her bed, holding her left hand in his and kissed the fingers.

“You will be okay. Soon.” He kissed her forehead and told, “Sleep now, okay? I will be there when you are awake. I will keep you safe.”

She let her mind and body to rest with his third kiss lingering on her forehead.


	2. canada/ukraine: sneaking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada came to Ukraine's house with disguise.

He managed to sneak up at the borderline with disguising himself as a farmer, with fake identity she had suggested him to be used several weeks ago. He came into her small front yard discovering that her grass—not too long ago when he had come everything had still been green and fresh—now were in misery.

All of them were yellow yet it was still spring. And her favorite tree whose the fruit she had always been shared with him now had lost more than half of its branches.

The front door was open, and he stepped in without knocking. He put the hat on a bench on the terrace, the supporting property of his act his brother let him borrow with saying, _be careful, Mattie, that Commie bastard would hang you at one of his castle-like building if he found out you were visiting his controlled sister_.

He entered her house. The interior was not messy like he had expected, but no one was around. With his usual low voice, he called out for her with concern implied in his tone, “Kat ... Kat ....”

Suddenly, a pair of arms caught him from behind and closed his eyes. He startled and were ready to beat the culprit, however, when he found the familiar countour of knuckles and the skin he knew the most, he called her name once again, “Kat ... what are you doing?”

All he heard was sobbing voice. Her hands didn’t move away from his eyes.

“Katyusha?”

“No, Matvey ... no ... don’t look at me ... please ... please, just go back and leave me ...” she, being so hard in saying, was trying hard to sound strong. 

He turned his body towards her, but she was too persistent to take back her hand and to let him see herself.

“Step ahead while your eyes still closed ... and don’t look back.”

“No ... I won’t.”

“Please, Matvey, please ...” she voiced awful plea with low whisper near to his ears.

“Kat, I know you conceal everything but I’m not a person who knows nothing.”

Her sob later was so sour and bitter and she leaned in to grab his shirt and later planted her head on his chest, still crying hard but with hands still on his face. She was being weaken as her cry was being more desperate, and he took a chance to grab her wrist and slowly but sure he put down the fingers from his eyes, hands still grabbing hers when his sight could fully free.

She was so pale, like a freezing human under a snowstorm. He could see her cheekbone which usually wasn’t shown clearly on her face. Black shade terribly encircled her eyes. Seeing so made his desire to embrace her be wholefully real. He did it with a kiss planted on her crown.

She was in peace for seconds, until he loosened his hands from her body. And him letting go of her made her desperately need more touch to ensure her that, in fact, she could surpass everything if only she had a reliable partner.

“I bring you a loaf of bread,” he took the said thing from his small knapsack on his back. “Here,” he offered it with a small, but sad smile.

She shook her head, “How could I eat when my people—”

He tore the bread but he knew that she would not that easy to open her mouth without any smart useful trick with that kind of perception in her mind. He closed the gap between them, kissing her chastely on the lips and when she responded by claiming his lips in inviting gesture, he pulled back. Putting the slice of bread on her still-parted lips.

The man lowered his head until they were at the same level, “You can help your people when you are stronger. Here, eat more. I will help you eating.”

She broke her tears once again, tears brimming on her face when chewing.

He gave her more bread and when a loaf had been done eaten, he pulled the nearest chairs for them to sit on the place, consequently brought more of the food to her mouth.

When the bread in his bag was no more, she began to weep again with both palms put on her slight-lowered face. He stood up, wrapping her fragile body into his arm, bending down to give her tranqulizing kiss between her tangled pieces of hair.

“People died because of this catasthrope will be remembered someday as heroes ... and as your spirit ... don’t make their death  as the thing that will beat you up, Kat, for they died to keep you running and fighting for justice ....”

She was broken into pieces but he gathered her scattered form and mended her into her real shape once again in his hands and hugs.

She could not hide anything as he could give everything. Only for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: sorry for bringing another dark history, but history does exist for the sake of future learning and development so that everything bad should not be repeated, hm?  
> this is about holodomor case. the event happened at the ethnic-Ukrainian region of northern Caucasus and the lower Volga River region in 1932-1933. the estimation of people who died by this famine disaster was approximately 7 to 10 million people. i don’t want to tell the main cause here, because it is so sensitive and i think it will be a little bit inappropriate entry for the haven we usually have fun reading otps stories: ao3. 
> 
> if you are willing to read the complete goal of the disaster, how and why it happened and who intended to do it, i suggest you to open this link: www.infoukes.com/history/famine/ (this is my main source). and please bear in mind my words: be wise in reading and learning history.


	3. china/vietnam: break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> China was always be a helping hand for her.

She elicited exhausted moan when he lifted her off the ground. He draped one of her arms on his shoulder, guided her to the nearest house he could find; he chose one without any trace of blood on the terrace, as lot of shelters around were occupied by injured soldiers, civil victims, children screaming in fear, and even dead bodies.

He kicked the door with left leg, didn’t really care about the fact that he had actually just added more damage to her country.

She, being stubborn as usual, didn’t let him help her more with pulling her arms from his subtle grip, and she sat with her own attempt on the nearest couch. One with broken armrest.

He knelt before her, and put both of his palm on her knees, “At least, we can win North for you.”

She inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. She closed her eyes, and what she could see was a sequence of horrible scenes she wished she could forget; scenes of blood-bathed soldiers, heroic commands, screams for firing up troops’ spirit, and running villagers. Everything was hurtful, but she believed it that every moment was a piece of jigsaw  puzzle, that would form a wonderful combination for the future: the unification and independency she had been longing since centuries ago.

“—And South, as soon as possible.”

When she opened her eyes, his index finger was on her lower part of lips.

“Your lips are bleeding.”

The Vietnamese grasped his fingers, blood was dripping. She released his fingers languidly, and sighed. “I’m okay.”

“Not really okay,” he corrected, and carressed her forehead to take care the bangs scattering around messily and mixed with blood also dust and sand. He made up her bangs to the usual style she had—that silently he adored even since he had ruled her back then.

Silence blanketed both of them. In war, at least they could find peace at the moment of their own, even inside that eerie house.

War was something she put her hatred the most on, nevertheless, she knew that she was no longer a child who only understood that the world was full of rainbow and flowers and everything would go smoothly with casting magic spells whenever a trouble came around the corner. War was a way, but not the priority. Sometimes unification needed forcing, sometimes peace could be gained only by showering the hatred and rebellion desire with blood of those who were willing to sacrifice themselves.

She had less amount than American who were trying to interfere with her civil wars. Without any help from the person who was before her, she was sure that her people would be forever in separation.

And who was she to say no gratification to him? A demon? Scariest villain on universe?

She pulled him up so that they were face-to-face at the same height.

She whispered through his earlobe, despite the bleeding lips and bruised temples and broken arms and cracked knees she had, she still could voice it well yet rough— “Thank you, thank you for saving half of me ....”

He curved a simple smile, reaching for her face and cupping it with tender gesture. “Because I would never let you fight alone,” then planted kisses on her nose, cheeks, and met their forehead. He stared into her eyes and pool of tears could not be hindered anymore—therefore he kissed the stream before it reached halfway of her cheeks; _you better not to cry when I am with you_.

In the short peace, between seconds of temporary truce, their lips found their own way to meet each other in chaste touches that continued longing into a longer interlocking.

She might need war to shelter their people in a single sovereignity under her wings, but she needed him more to keep her steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on vietnam war. just go tell me if i mistook something!

**Author's Note:**

> bonus A/N: maybe it will be Canada/Ukraine for the next chapter, fyi.


End file.
